Thursday, August 26, 2010

I Want to Call Him My Muse

I want to call him my muse,
write verses down his back and press my lips against them so I can taste his poetry..

Find trails in his palms that tell me his story...
Get lost in his eyes....he'll leave me searching.

I want to call him my muse,
write similes on his chest so I may compare his heartbeat to thunder...

Find songs within the silences we indulge in...
Get lost within the memories he revisits.

I want to call him my muse,
outline his hips with syllables so I may measure them just to my liking...

Find imagery in the scars he has worn so proudly...
Get lost within the arch of his he pushes enough to come find me.

I want to call him my muse,
draw stars above his lips so I may ride his shooting star to Venus...

Find ecstasy at his fingertips...and remain enchanted by the way my body fits so well with his...

I want to call him my muse,
before my verses cease to entertain me....

I want to call him my muse,
create reality through the ink and write my name with his...and find out that my happily ever after was retained in his poetry...

Sunday, August 15, 2010

He Has Left Me

I fear that love has left me...
packed its bags,
left no notice,
left the corners full of cobb webbs.

Love has left me....
like the presence of light from the eyes of those who have been scarred by darkened intentions...

Love has left me...
like memories staying behind --detached from childhood; reminiscing...behind like Saturday morning feel good moments while mom and dad were once in the background kissing.

I've asked you to help me find love,
remind him of the moments when he'd paint blank canvas'...
He was an artist,
making things move through simple contact; through words unspoken.
Camoflouged so well!
He had my eyes ignoring glitches...made some flawless.

And if you find him,
tell him my iris misses his imagination.
The way he placed stars across my chest and had me riding constellations...and at times a simple kiss would make me breathless -- and often have me weakened.

Let love find me, before the door to the chambers harden,
before the bed he once lay in is stolen...
before I never utter his name and eternally remain--unopened.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Mosaic of Eternal Childhood Love

I'm sorry Ms. Jackson...never meant to make your young boy cry,
but you see we never really knew what this thing called love was,
we played with fire, knew time and time again that it can burn,
but we left the risk behind it and for the moments we were willing to hurt and learn.

See we were never meant for broken hearts,
we were never meant for tearful nights,
we were never in it for the deep conversations but for the carnal sensations.
We were never looking for this love to bite...
We never expected I to be nonexistant, we never thought we can be as one,
everytime he'd hurt, I'd gasp as if someone had stolen my lungs.

I cannot fathom, comprehend or process just how he consumed my soul,
never thought that the deep tones his fingers would massage upon my back would be the element to screw my reason.
Never really thought that he'd have me past midnight counting how many ways I can make him smile and how many times in one day I can see him.

Oh he made me sing some blues to his name, made me recite brother to the night,
and even though he was the blues in my left thigh, he also became the funk in my right.

Like two young children we fell into webs of jungle gyms,
Monkey barred our way across levels where our feet were elevated,
and even did the leg pop when we kissed.

We fell into love, like Alice fell into that god-forsaken hole,
we did not have a bunny rabbit, so we had no idea where time would go.

Hopscotch love is what we deemed it,
cops and robbers never had a reason,
freeze tag made us realize that when we'd be free our hearts would excel and tease us.

We had some type of puppy love,
something grown folks couldn't comprehend,
Ms. Jackson I made your young boy cry as he and I were only friends.
But now I buy fake rub off tattoos to soak across my veins, because this love is so much more real than grown folks can comprehend.

We never were expecting for love to bite,
we never were expecting to love this hard,
and when I said red light, red light, green light,
we had the best accident thus far...we fell in love with the children inside our souls and our love was deeper than hands can fold...
Know Ms. Jackson that the tears your young boy cries, I've cried and those tears are tears of love and within each other we will find ways to make sense of this Mosaic of Eternal Childhood Love.

Sunday, January 31, 2010


Slick smooth surfaces, exist in perfect worlds...
but our progress moves on hard rigid stones...

Familiar to pain--loves paradigm is conflicted,
often too complex to be put into sentence.
we seek to be pure, but tainted love is all thats produced,
I hate me and I love you...

Yet I sit here on a cold splintered floor attempting to rub my hands across it,
expecting no splinters but bleeding to the cold reality of painful sacrifice for the sake of learning.

Images reoccurring-you can rarely make sense of my phrases,
clarity seems to be tainted and I attempt to make sign language to get my point to you.
But regardless of attempts that digress my message,
Im left tainted with the memory of you, so moving on is not expected--
in a world that tells me that without you I am nothing,
protection exists within your arms, and here I am at harm...

Tainted with tears, pain and thoughts,
can't start on clean slates,
can't begin new paths,
labyrinths entangle my reason, and clarity is tainted by the constant contemplation of your arrival.

Until then I am expected to bite out of that poisonous apple,
because I can rarely make reason out of thoughts,
and I can never imagine a love so pure without you...

Monday, January 11, 2010


They say time heals all wounds,
but how long must I wait for the sand to run out?
Now I have allowed every tick to control me,
and every tock to just lure me...
into some type of preservational cloud.
I've saved myself for healing,
reflecting on the constant memory of us...
Hoping that one day I'll wake up--
and not realize that you... were.... my everything.
See I've lost my everything;
hoping that my memory goes lost with it,
I resort to erasing the touch of your body by accumulating moments with others..
allowing myself to live for the give ins and sink ins of these carnal desires...
but regardless of how hard I attempt to erase you from my lips, or from my skin,
I'm left with a permanent inprint that does not allow me to forget--
regardless of how hard I scrub or how intensly he thrusts to erase you,

You're like a word that's been spoken and put to paper,
attempting to erase so I can start again--I fail.
every word is still seen on this paper,
every smudge has claimed it as its canvas
and I am exposed, still marked by you.
I've attempted to neglect you some how,
letting past pain lay somewhere way beneath my surface.
Supressing it to the point where I cover myself in blankets confusing tidal waves and light currents.
Those who have attempted to get beneath my covers have barely piereced my intentions.
We've stood by mirrors yet they see no reflection...and I'm lost in the moments, in the ticking and the tocking, in the quick sand in the hourglass only moving towards the bottom.
And I'm sinking while I'm waking to forget...that I loved you.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

Tanka #2

My world's up-side down,
heart's in an eternal knot;
I'm topsy turvy.
Some call it love or just some--
type of elevated lust.

Tanka #1

The distance makes me--
contemplate whether time is--
on our side or if--
you will ever be ready--
to love me with no regrets.